The Disillusionment of Morgana Pendragon
by MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: Morgana only had Lake Avalon for company... but he still loved her too.


Another Mergana fic from me. Enjoy or not at your leisure.

* * *

**THE DISILLUSIONMENT OF MORGANA PENDRAGON**

A desolate, disillusioned soul sat on the banks of Lake Avalon.

Her tangled hair flew loose down her back. Never had it seen a comb, though a bone clasp half-heartedly held some of it together. Her feet were bare and submerged below the cool surface of the water. Milky moonlight splashed onto her ivory skin where her lacy shift had been hitched up to prevent it from getting wet. Sometimes she sat up straight, staring ahead at an undefined point into the future or perhaps she saw an eery reflection of her own soul in the restless waters of Avalon. After all, it was the final resting place of all mortal beings. Only this woman knew what she saw. At other times, she would lie on her bag, feet still in the water and gaze into the vast depths of the sky instead, idly counting dull stars as she did when she was a child. And with her hair sprawled across the ground, thin arms resting on her stomach and her lips parted open in bored wonder, perhaps she was reminiscing on her infancy. Or maybe she simply wanted a diversion from whatever had attracted her attention over Lake Avalon. Again, only she could say.

This night-time expedition had not yet attained the right frequency to constitute a habit.

She had been asleep in her hovel, finally succumbing to rest after the silence and emptiness of her abode had screamed loud enough in her ears. It was a screech that was enough to send someone barrelling into the pervasive, tragic domain of insanity. She, for her part, had almost forgotten the times when she was sane and happy. Now she was a brittle skeleton, alive in the flesh but dead in the soul, flitting between the waking and sleeping hours with wild abandon. She was a being who was no longer constrained by the basic phenomenon of the seasons and weather, or of company and the good it brought to a lonely, estranged and much-reviled woman. Earlier though, she had been sleeping; or at least affecting this guise. That was until the faces appeared in her dream, those cursed visages with their accusatory expressions and hollow voices... Their corpses were horribly mangled and their yellowed bones showed through parts of their fingers. These were the Undead Ones who visited her nightly in retribution for her wrongdoings. She could name them one by one, people who she had either killed directly or indirectly; they always came to her at the darkest hours, pointing at her, glaring into her eyes malignantly.

The worst two had visited her this night. Uther and Morgause. For the Old King, this was justified, yet whatever vice had warped her beloved sister had her now pointing to a crimson wound in her stomach and whispering the agonising word, the accusation: "Murderer". In life, Morgause had instructed her to end her life, but at night, a vision of her late sister denounced her as a bloodthirsty, delirious sorceress and a social outcast. It was too much for her to bear; she had woken up abruptly screaming, pleading for clemency to whoever was listening. No one listened. No one heard Morgana's cries for help. The kingdom hated her. She was alone in every sense of the word. So she had cried hysterically into her pillow to pour out her acute misery. But still, no one came to her aid. No one asked after her health. On a whim, a flash of memory exploded behind her burning eyes,a faded image of herself as a child, weeping quietly after she had cut her hand in a fall... then a golden-haired boy appeared, looking concerned. He put his arm around her heaving shoulders and led her indoors to the Court Physician. Now, that boy would have nothing to do with her. Neither would anyone else, even if they pursued and persecuted her kind as though she were a disease. She was a scapegoat for all that went wrong, a deviant error upon Camelot's history.

Moreover, she was alone. Always isolated.

So on another whim she had dashed out of her house into the night, never stopping until she reached the banks of Avalon and slumped down into a heap, feet in the water. She would have told anyone who was interested that she thought of many things, and she thought of nothing at all. But no one would ask- because no one cared. She considered how the hill was the best analogy for her life, eternally sloping downwards. She ruminated on the inevitable factor in life, that it was simply another phase of death. She concluded that she must be long deceased herself, but could not calculate when nor how long for. She pondered on her aims and ambitions; the throne of Camelot, secure under the hands of one who hated magic. Was it always destined to be that way? In better times, she would have fought for an alternate answer- now she could only daydream... because she was simply tired. Nothing meant anything any more. Death, plans, victories, defeats, they were all the same to her. And they had not brought her any kind of happiness. Of course, she knew not what happiness was at all. In another time, people had smiled, and more recently, she had done the same thing when she had manipulated her way to some small step towards her brother's death. Now her mouth remained closed to the outside world. No one would hear her voice... not that anyone wished to at all.

She had shut herself down and barricaded herself from the outside world. Only she knew why. Disillusionment. From where? She did not know- but what was clear to her these days? Few things.

As the night wore on, Morgana realized that one thing remained constant; Lake Avalon. How calming it was for her tormented soul. The way it shivered and shimmered as though it might live entranced her. She knew at least that she would love the freedom of being an astral being like the spirits contained within these hallowed waters, not contained into a pale, useless body. What freedom she would gain then. She slid closer to the water, allowing her calves to sink into it. Gently, she lay back onto the crumbly moist ground, inhaling the sweet earthy aroma mixed with dashes of fragrance from an array of wild flowers. In a daze, she named a few and almost smiled. Nothing moved. Nothing stirred. But this was a difference form of quiet. This silence lived, unlike that in her home. Perhaps she should stay here forever. Perhaps she might finally leave the world and find eternal peace. Perhaps...

By and by, Morgana drifted off to the first peaceful sleep in a long, arduous year.

That was where Merlin found her, half submerged, lying down, arms over her chest in a white lacy night shift barely discernible from her pale skin which contrasted heavily with an inky black mane of flowing tresses melting into the ground. A strange dream had told him that she would be here, but he had come prepared for trouble. Instead he found a tranquil High Priestess, alone and unarmed. He studied her sleeping face and decided that she looked defenceless, vulnerable, like a small child. But then his eyes reached the curve of her lips and that conclusion soon transformed to state that in sleep she took on the appearance of an angel, a weeping angel who rued their devilish deeds. He swallowed as he approached her tentatively. She was still so beautiful. As he crouched next to her body, he was assaulted by the undercurrent of magic that had been revitalised by Avalon's waters. It had flown up through Morgana's feet and was now delighted to have found Merlin, seamlessly mingling with his own, affixing itself inside of the warlock, two pieces of a jigsaw coming together after a long separation. Merlin could feel his eyes tearing up, and a warm rush swirl into his body. It was only when he realized that he had intertwined his fingers with some of hers that he knew what he had been trying to deny for political reasons.

He still loved her.

It was harsh, traitorous even. It was utterly wrong. He shouldn't feel sad that hatred had turned her into a caricatured malignant, vengeful Fury. But he could see into people in ways that no one else could. He would have known Morgana even if he had never met her in his life. Underneath it, she was... well, he didn't have enough words to articulate why he had become enraptured with her in the first place. He could only brush a hand against a cool forehead, or caress her arms or trace those lips he had dreamed of kissing senseless with a trembling finger or simply gaze at the thief of his own cavernous heart. Words were not necessary- they hardly ever were. It was just them, and their magic connection and a love that made him feel dizzy and so weak. Then there was Avalon and her wonderful calming effect. What more could Merlin want?

Maybe for her eyes to flicker open...

He found himself staring into them a moment later, his surprised, Morgana's incredulous. For another second, nobody moved except the magic tingling which augmented until they could both espy tiny little sparks dancing about gleefully in the night air. Merlin wondered whether he should feel scared and run. Duty told him that he should kill her. There were about 150 death spells ready for his usage. He should exploit one of them and put an end to Camelot's worst enemy. Now, before it was too late... He swallowed again as he realized he couldn't do it. And from the way her eyes bored holes into his mind, he knew that she knew he would not lay a finger on him... Much the same way that she could never hurt him in good conscience, no matter how much she had tried to convince herself otherwise. But she had to be sure.

"You won't kill me?" she whispered. Her voice was hoarse from lack of use and her diction was stilted, but to Merlin the sound was the most beautiful thing her had ever heard.

"No," he murmured. Before he knew what he was doing, a soft hand was lodged inside his and then his lips were brushing it. "Never."

"I think I want to live now..." she replied in a more assured tone, "because you said that."

Merlin could feel streaks of salty moisture down his cheeks as he lay next to her, still holding her hand gently. "For me? Or to hurt everyone that I love?"

There was a restless silence before she responded. "For you, Merlin." It was the first time that she had uttered his name and it made his heart squeeze so painfully as another deluge of mindless love rushed through his body. "Because... no matter what I have done... you still care."

He turned his head to face her; their foreheads brushed together lightly, eyes locked upon each other's. He could have sworn that maybe she might be smiling a little, but not with any form of malice or hatred. This suspicion became a certainty when his head inched closer and his nose was filled with the heady scene of violets, jasmine and roses. That was what she must be, he decided once more; a flower, lovely and enticing yet prone to blow the wrong way when the winds of change came along. That could never deter him though. It seemed that Fate would twist him and Morgana together until they couldn't breathe. In due course, he found his fingers twisted in her hair... still so soft and black as he knew it. Deprivation had renewed an insatiable desire to revisit all of the old pleasures he had wanted but had never attained. It was a particularly greedy desire that nagged at him in ways it had never done before. He did not wish to refuse... so he kissed her and something exploded into a ball of flame inside his stomach. That meant he had done the right thing.

And Morgana's whimper of pleasure confirmed his decision because after her initial shock he could feel her pressing herself against him. Her body seemed a lot warmer; it was as though he had revitalised her, resurrected her carcass from the grip of the chasm. They continued to kiss for as long as they cared, as long as they wanted. The reality was not lost upon them- and paradoxically, it was. Only one thing was evident; their love, flitting in and out of their bodies in total bliss, regardless of whether the consequences for this scandalous contact might be severe the next day. Their magical connection was simply too strong, here on Avalon's banks.

Later, they tired of their passion and drifted asleep in each other's arms for a night by a Lake that had rejoined the two halves.

**FINIS**

* * *

Did you like? Did you hate? Or just... meh?


End file.
